


Love Your Terrible Ways

by Meatball42



Series: Rare Pairs [130]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Activist Steve Rogers, Art, Artist Steve Rogers, Baking, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Carnival, Counselor Sam Wilson, Dogs, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Pie, Romance, Sam Wilson's Birthday Bang 2019, Sort Of, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-10-29 16:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20799437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: Four times Steve’s spontaneity nearly gives Sam a conniption, and two times it works out pretty well for them both.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> A rather belated addition to the glorious Samtember, the month of Sam Wilson's birthday and the home of the [Sam Wilson Birthday Bang!](https://samwilsonbirthdaybang.tumblr.com/) Many thinks to the organizers of this bang and to the wonderful community on the Sam Wilson Appreciation server on Discord for being a super fun bunch of people and making this bang feel like a real community event and celebration <3
> 
> Sincere thanks to my friend DefenestratingReason for providing a comprehensive and detailed beta on this story.
> 
> Even more thanks to the lovely chibi.squirt who drew the adorable art for this story! If you'd like to comment to the art specifically, you can do so [here at Flickr.](https://www.flickr.com/photos/184899290@N02/48872271042/)

On Sam’s second day at his new job, a VA-adjacent non-profit in New York, one of the other clinicians leans on his desk. It looks precarious, considering her heels and tight skirt, but Sam doesn’t exactly mind.

They get to small-talking, and Malaya is flirting with him a bit, but that’s more than okay. She fiddles with a few of the knicknacks he has on his desk, then comes to the framed photo of Sam and Steve at Riley’s Fourth of July cookout last year. 

“So this cutie, is he your foster brother or something?”

Sam sputters on his coffee, nearly choking. He manages to put it on the desk without spilling and grabs a napkin.

“That’s my boyfriend,” he says once he recovers.

One of Malaya’s long-fingered hands comes up to cover her mouth. “Oh my God, I am so sorry.” There’s a beat that Sam spends wondering if he’s going to get the ‘repent, sinner’ talk or the ‘gay or taken’ talk. “I didn’t mean to be offensive, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“It’s no problem,” Sam says easily.

Malaya squirms a little, obviously still feeling bad, and looks at the photo again. “Damn, I was gonna ask if he was single.”

Sam laughs. Malaya reaches over to squeeze his shoulder, grinning, then heads back to her cubicle.

Sam’s desk phone rings, Steve’s name coming up on the digital display, and he hits speaker. “Hey Steve. One of my colleagues is trying to hit on you.”

Malaya spins around on one maroon heel. “Sam Wilson, you rascal!”

Steve laugh comes through crackly over the line. “Well, tell her I’m flattered, but I’m in a secure relationship with a gorgeous man.”

“Awww,” Mayala coos with a hand on her chest.

“What’s up, babe?”

“I hope you’re not doing anything on August 17,” Steve says.

Sam covers his eyes. “What have you gotten up to now?”

“Hey, this is romantic! I signed us up for an event as a couple!”

“What  _ kind _ of event?”

“...A triathlon.”

Sam takes a deep, calming breath, but it’s ruined when Malaya starts laughing loudly enough that people at nearby desks turn to look.

“Steve, when did—”

A metallic noise rings through the air as Malaya’s knee hits the side of an empty desk when she holds onto it for support. “Couple’s— tria—” she repeats, trying to breathe steadily.

“He’s single!” Sam calls over to her. “You want him, you can have him!”

“What is going on here, Mr. Wilson?”

Sam spins in his chair. Ms. Lewkowicz, the executive director of the agency, is standing there with her hands on her hips, her skirt suit perfectly pressed as though to juxtapose the unprofessional scene before her.

Malaya stands up and straightens her outfit. When Ms. Lewkowicz isn’t looking she shoots Sam an  _ ohhh shit _ expression.

“I’m sorry for the disruption, ma’am. I was just discussing the charity work my boyfriend is doing.”

“Very funny charity work,” Ms. Lewkowicz observes.

“Yes ma’am.” Sam gulps.

“Is that Ms. Lewkowicz?” Steve asks over the speaker.

Sam’s gut clenches as his boss leans over his desk.

“This is she,” Ms. Lewkowicz answers, her voice dangerously sharp.

“Hello, I’m Steve Rogers, Sam’s partner. He told me how much he was looking forward to working under you. I’m sorry for disrupting your office today. I’m helping to organize a series of events this summer to benefit the Brooklyn Arts Council. The Lonely Island comedy group is starring, and Sam didn’t know who they were, so I was telling some of their jokes to introduce him. I sincerely apologize for the disruption and I promise it won’t happen again.”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm for your work, Steve,” Ms. Lewkowicz says loudly to the phone, the way older people do.

Then, unexpectedly, she smiles at Sam over her tortoiseshell glasses. “My grandson is a big Lonely Island fan, Mr. Rogers,” she says slyly.

“Well. Wasn’t this a fortuitous happenstance,” Steve plays along. “Because it just happens that I have a few tickets to hand out for publicity. Is your grandson active on social media?”

“Is he ever!”

“Then I’d be happy to furnish you with some tickets, provided he agrees to brag about his early access all over Twitter.”

“You are very kind, Mr. Rogers.”

“I hope I get a chance to meet you in person soon, Ms. Lewkowicz.”

“Please, it’s Catherine.”

Sam stares up at his boss, who is smiling sweetly at his phone.

“Then please call me Steve. Have a good afternoon, Catherine!’

“You as well, Steve.”

Ms. Lewkowicz stands up and nods at Sam. “What a polite young man. I hope you know how lucky you are!”

“I absolutely do, ma’am.”

“Welcome to the agency, Mr. Wilson,” Ms. Lewkowicz says, and walks away.

Sam is still slumped in his chair, stunned at the close shave, when Malaya checks that their boss is gone and comes back over.

“Does Steve have a foster brother?” she asks.

All Sam can do is laugh.


	2. 2

Sam is spotting Riley’s set on the bench when his cell rings. It’s in his gym bag under a towel and a paperback, and when he digs it out there are already several texts from Steve.

_ ‘Are you on your way home?’ _

_ ‘Please don’t panic’ _

_ ‘I swear I have a good reason’ _

Summoned by Sam’s heartfelt groan, Riley peeks over his shoulder. “What’s he gone and done this time?”

Sam sits on a bench while Riley stretches his hamstrings. “I got no idea. Kinda don’t want to know. Maybe I’ll just finish my workout and he’ll fix it by the time I get home.”

Riley laughs. Sam tosses his phone at his bag, acknowledging how hopeless _ that _ idea is.

When they pull up to the little house Sam and Steve moved into last month, Riley turns off his car. To Sam’s questioning look, he offers an evil grin. “Come on, I gotta know what your boy’s done this time.”

Sam just nods, accepting the humiliation as his due. He _ did _know what he was signing up for when he and Steve got serious. 

They hear yelps as they approach the door and high alert kicks on. With a hand sign, Riley directs himself around the back of the house and Sam to the front. Sam gives him a minute to get into position, listening to the occasional sharp cry from inside. Sweat begins to bead on his forehead as he imagines Steve inside with an unknown number of assailants.

After thirty seconds, he inserts his key into the lock and enters the house as quietly as possible. His old service weapon is locked up in their bedroom, but a hutch in the family room has a taser in the back of one drawer, kept charged. Sam gets it ready and starts clearing the house front to back.

There’s a high-pitched whine from the kitchen, and then Riley’s voice. “Ohhh, nooooo…”

Sam is feet away from the kitchen when Steve’s huge silhouette appears in the doorway. Steve raises his arms when he nearly walks into the taser.

“Just me, everything’s safe. I promise.”

Sam lowers the taser. “What the hell, Steve.”

He’s not even mad. He’s not even surprised.

Sam rubs his face. “What is it, what’s the big surprise.”

“Awwww, you’re a great surprise, aren’t you?” comes Riley’s voice behind Steve.

Another high-pitched sound that is definitely not a human yip follows it, and Sam’s chest freezes.

Steve raises his arms in the same exact way he did moments before, as though Sam’s likely to shoot him this time.

(He might.)

“Before you say anything, he’s trained, he’s chipped, he’s had his shots, but he was at a kill shelter and they were packed full and he’d been there for a week—a week, that’s it!—and they were going to…”

Sam steps forward and Steve turns to let him see into the kitchen.

Riley is sitting on the floor with a brown and white puppy in his lap. It slobbers on his face, its little tail wagging ferociously, as Riley rubs its back with both hands. As Sam watches, the dog hops on its back legs, trying to reach more skin, and lets out another excited sound.

“I couldn’t let him die, Sam,” Steve pleads.

Sam checks: yes, Steve is giving him a look sad enough to rival any puppy on the planet.

“Does our lease even allow pets?” he asks, trying to ignore the fact that he _ knows _how this ends.

Steve brightens. “Up to ninety pounds! And Jimmy’s only supposed to hit a hundred, we can fudge that.”

“Wait a second, _ Jimmy?_”

“That’s what they called him at the shelter.”

Sam smiles. Sam chortles. Sam does everything short of rubbing his hands together and flaring his cape.

“We can keep the dog, if—” he warns. Steve nods earnestly. “—and only if, we tell Barnes we named it after him.”

Steve frowns, but Riley, the best wingman on the planet, gives Jimmy a shove and the puppy comes galloping over to them on its tiny legs, tongue out, collar jingling. Sam crouches down and picks it up, standing so Steve can see the darling lick his face.

“Ohh, you’re going to look ridiculous,” Sam tells it in his talking-to-dogs voice. “I’m going to get so much mileage out of you, aren’t I sweetie? Aren’t I?”

He scratches behind Jimmy’s ears and the thing’s head lolls with joy.

“Okay,” Steve gives in.

Riley clutches his gut laughing, leaning back against their kitchen cabinets, and snaps a picture.


	3. 3

Sam is grabbing coffee for the office when Riley calls.

“Did you pick up another stray?”

Sam tries to hold his phone between his ear and his shoulder while he grabs his tray of coffees from the counter. The damn devices are so thin now it’s nearly impossible.

“What are you talking about? One second.” He shifts everything to one hand, shoves open the bakery door, and grabs his phone. “I swear to the Lord Almighty, if Steve adopted another dog—”

“Sam, I need you to tell the guy who was on your couch that I am your friend and I have permission to be in your home. You’re on speaker.”

Sam stops dead in the middle of the parking lot. “Who the hell was on my couch?!”

“Sam, can you please—”

“Yes, _ person on my couch_, Riley is my best friend and has a key. You, whoever you are, do not, and I’d like to know who the hell you are and what the hell you think you’re doing in my house!”

A blonde woman hustles her kids to the car, giving Sam a frightened look. He forces himself to keep walking, fingers squeezing his stupidly-thin phone against his head.

“Okay. Thanks Sam. I’m gonna hang up now,” Riley says in his calm voice.

“Don’t hang up, tell me who—” The phone makes a happy beeping sound to indicate that the caller has hung up.

The state of the world where a man can’t even yell at a dial tone anymore.

~ ~ ~

When Sam pulls into his parking spot, Steve is already on their tiny front porch waiting for him. He comes down before Sam makes it to the tiny lawn.

“I’m so sorry, this was all a huge misunderstanding—”

“Who the hell was on the patent leather couch that I bought two weeks ago with my own money, Steve? And did he—” Sam breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. “Did he _ threaten _ Riley?”

Steve puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders and talks quietly. “I know you’re mad and I understand why, but I need you to keep calm.”

Sam bats the hands away. “Ex_cuse me? _ This is my house—!”

Steve shushes him and Sam rears back in an imitation of his offended Grammy that makes him blush even as he feels righteously angry.

“It’s Bucky, and he’s not doing well. The halfway house kicked him out because he had an episode, and he’s been living out of his car. He didn’t want anyone to know, but Thor found out.”

Thor and Bucky work at the same security agency. Thor’s physique is threatening enough to make up for his cheery personality, and Bucky’s glower could stun a horse a half a field away.

The story cools off some of Sam’s fire, but not all of it. “Did he _ threaten _ my friend.”

“He thought Riley was an intruder. He had a switchblade.”

Sam walks away from Steve and leans on his car.

“I let Bucky in and went back to work. I was planning on calling you when your shift was over. Riley said he left his tablet last night and used his spare to come in. He’s okay, and he was really nice about it. He talked Bucky down and called me, I took the rest of the day off.”

Sam gives himself a few moments to process the whole story. “Was this ‘episode’ at the residential violent?”

“He was trying to barricade the door to his room. He yanked the doorknob off. They kicked him out for the property damage, not because it was violent.”

“And is he gonna rip any of our doorknobs off?”

Steve doesn’t answer. Eventually Sam turns around.

Steve has a few tears running down his cheeks. He’s clutching his elbows with both hands and hunching over slightly. Sam goes and hugs him immediately.

“I’m sorry, baby. Of course he can stay. I’m not gonna kick a vet out on the streets, ‘specially not your foster brother. He can have all the doorknobs he wants.”

Steve hitches a wet laugh into Sam’s neck.

“I can’t imagine how I’d feel if Riley were going through what Bucky is. But I’d be praying for him to have someone like you.”

“It happened _ weeks _ ago,” whispers Steve. “Why didn’t he _ tell me? _”

Sam strokes Steve’s back. “You know him better than me,” he says, “but I’ve seen behavior like this with other vets. Lot of guys believe that they need to be self-sufficient, or they feel guilty or ashamed that they can’t handle their trauma. Or they don’t want to be a burden. It’s not that you haven’t been doing enough to support him, babe.”

Steve shakes his head and Sam scowls at a guy who’s not there.

“Hey. Come on pumpkin, buck up. I gotta cook dinner and I gotta call Riley and level out, so we should get inside. Let me mother hen at your brother. You introduce him to Jimmy properly? He hasn’t been over since we got him, right?”

They walk up the path to the door together. Inside, in the family room to the left, Bucky is tucked into the corner of Sam’s new couch. Jimmy, who is _ not _ allowed on the furniture, is panting in his lap. Bucky is stroking the little monster with his remaining hand. He’s relaxed and calm when he looks up at them.

“Hey Sam.”

“Hey Bucky. Have an exciting afternoon?”

Bucky looks sheepish. “Your friend startled me awake. I apologized, I swear. He seems like a nice guy.”

“He’s a very nice guy. A very forgiving guy.” Sam pointedly looks at his boyfriend.

Steve sighs. “Will Riley be wanting more butterscotch cookies?”

“It’s a safe bet,” Sam says sweetly.

“I can bake those,” Bucky offers. “Save you a mess at least. Even down an arm, I’m better than Steve in the kitchen. My dad was from Kentucky, mom’s family’s from further south. She taught me all her recipes before she died, and Steve learned it all from me.”

"Oh _ really? _” Sam asks, interest piqued. “Do you know how to do a gumbo?”

Bucky shrugs. “I’ve only made it vegan for my sister.”

Sam blinks rapidly. Then he turns to Steve. “I changed my mind, he can’t stay.”

Steve blows a raspberry.


	4. +1

“You think you’re tough, blondie?” Rhodes says, squaring up to Steve. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”

“Oh I will, Chair Force,” Steve replies, mere inches away from Rhodes’ face. He holds up a folded twenty and slams it on the countertop. “It’s a good thing you brought a raincoat, cause I’m about to make it rain.”

“This is weird,” Bucky mutters in between bites of cotton candy.

He’s standing behind Sam, aka out of the line of fire. Sam would let it go, because Steve and Rhodes’ melodrama is starting to get kinda homoerotic, but Bucky has been hiding behind someone since they got to the carnival. And now, Sam has to agree with Bucky, which just makes him more annoyed.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Misty interrupts the pair. She pushes Sam’s boyfriend and her own apart with one hand on each of their chests, politely handing the runner of the darts booth her entry fee. Steve subtly rubs his side where her robot fingers dug in.

“Here’s how it’s gonna go,” Misty begins. “Alphabetical order, so no one can complain. Air Force, Army, NYPD. Saving the best for last, obviously.” A flash of pearly whites seals the deal.

“You want a turn, Sam?” Rhodes asks. His expression seems innocent, but Sam knows him and can see the mischief in his eyes. He glares at Rhodes, but then Steve jumps in.

“Yeah, Bucky, come help me show up these wannabe—”

He freezes at the sight of Sam’s face and Misty and Rhodes both crack up.

“I mean, let’s show off your talents!”

“Nice save,” Sam says dryly. “But Bucky and I will watch.”

He goes to stand off to the side with a view of the booth. Bucky shuffles behind him, like some sort of human shadow.

“You good?” Sam asks. Not because he cares, of course, or because he feels any sort of camaraderie with Barnes, who has come out to the fair as his first big public outing since moving in with them, but… because he’s being weird, and Sam would like to know when that might stop.

Bucky clears his throat, seems to realize that he’s lurking, and comes to stand next to Sam. “Yeah. Fine. You?”

Sam gives him a sidelong look as Rhodes throws his darts. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just thought you’d want to play.”

“I wigged out my shoulder at the gym,” Sam admits.

Bucky nods, and that appears to be the end of his conversational tolerance.

Rhodes finishes with a decent score and Steve comes in just barely below it. Rhodes is anything but magnanimous, patting Steve on the back in faux-commiseration and giving him some ‘helpful pointers.’ Steve takes it in the teasing spirit in which it’s meant, and then they both shut up when Misty pops every single one of the balloons on her turn.

“I’ve got nephews who love this game,” she says, blowing on her manicured fingers like they’re a gun, which she then pretends to holster. Rhodes shakes his head in shame and Steve, the cheeseball, giggles.

Sam catches Bucky smiling in his peripheral vision.

The trio don’t let up throughout the rest of the carnival. Misty’s pregnancy means they don’t go on any rides, so the group mainly follows Bucky or Sam to stalls that sell interesting food, or Steve to booths where he and Rhodes can play up their fake rivalry.

Riley shows up around four, his referee uniform still muddy from the soccer field, and joins right in. He and Rhodes have met before, but only once or twice, and today is the day they cement their friendship in opposition to Steve and all the Air Force jokes he’s been storing up the entire time he’s been dating Sam.

Sam is planning to at least joke about making him sleep on the couch tonight in retaliation for those comments. But then Steve wins him a really massive stuffed owl, and he decides he can joke about there only being room in bed for him and the newly christened Fowlcon.

It’s a great day. Sam eats what feels like his own body weight in funnel cake, various flavors of pie on a stick, and cheese curds. Steve and Misty strike up a terrifying friendship. Riley and Rhodes’ friendship is much more welcome, even if it means that Sam might actually have to start calling his former superior officer by his first name, or at least ‘Rhodey.’

Even Bucky has a good day. When Steve is losing too badly at a sharpshooting game, Bucky succumbs to the soulful blue puppy eyes of the man Sam loves. One-handed, he takes up the shoddy pellet-shooter himself. He misses the first shot, then scowls and hits every one after that, to the visible shock and frustration of the guy running the booth. Bucky wins a massive Tweety Bird and gives it to a pair of young kids who were cheering for him.

Sam shakes his head at Steve, who is smiling too proudly. “That was obvious,” he mutters, leaning up to kiss Steve’s cheek.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Steve says. He’s literally grinning too wide to kiss Sam’s cheek back, so he just kind of snuggles his face against Sam’s like the man-sized puppy that he is.

Sam catches Misty snapping a picture of them from the side, but that’s okay. He’s got blackmail schmoopy pics of her and Rhodes, too. 

By the time they head back to the parking lot, the sun has started to go down, and Sam doesn’t even have to walk in between Bucky and any sticky, whiny, rowdy, or crying kids that come along. Bucky is no longer hiding behind people; instead, he’s talking to Riley about his exercise regimen. Sam narrows his eyes at his friend’s back, but Steve distracts him by making him carry Fowlcon while he takes a photo of Rhodes and Misty with the pink and purple sunset as a backdrop.

A really great day, Sam thinks. He watches some of his favorite people in the world shake hands and share hugs, make promises to meet up and exchange friend requests and phone numbers. 

Bucky is exhausted, so once the others have all driven off he climbs into the backseat of Steve’s showy electric SUV and cuddles up with Fowlcon. Sam and Steve take a minute outside. 

“So?” Steve asks. He’s leaning against Sam, who has his back to the car and is gladly letting Steve cuddle him into the warm metal. “Am I good at not throwing a birthday party or what?”

Sam kisses him. He runs his hands down Steve’s sides and holds his boyfriend’s tiny hips to keep him just where he wants him, which is pressed up against Sam, forever.

“Yeah,” he answers a minute later. “I had a great time.”

“I love you,” Steve says, looking him in the eyes.

Sam huffs, but he’s smiling. He can even feel his cheeks heating up. They’re not the kind of couple that feels the need to say they love each other all the time. They both know. But Steve’s sappy, and the sun is painting the sky beautiful colors, and it’s a great moment. The kind you never forget.

“I love you, too,” Sam tells him.

Steve kisses him again, and they don’t stop for several minutes, until Bucky sets off the car alarm.

“I hate your friend, Steve!” Sam shouts.

Steve is shouting at a smirking Bucky through the car windows, and doesn’t hear.


	5. 4

Sam is in the middle of a group session when the call comes in, so of course, Malaya takes the opportunity to take a message.

Sucking air through brightly-painted lips, she drops a sheet torn off a hotel pad onto his desk when he makes it back. “Mmm, Sammy I’m sorry. I thought you had a good one there.”

Sam fumbles his file of notes from group and his coffee into one hand so he can pick up the note. He scans it quickly and groans. 

“I gotta take care of this.”

“You don’t have to stick by ya’ man if he’s not good for you!” she calls after him as he quicksteps out of the office.

Sam calls Riley, who knows What To Do, but his phone is turned off. Sam glares intensely at a passing pigeon, wrangles his pride down tight, and hits the contact called ‘Swamp Thing.’

“It’s my day off, Thor,” Bucky groans, clearly having woken up to Sam’s call.

“Your brother got himself arrested again.”

“Oh, so when he gets himself arrested he’s ‘my brother.’”

Sam’s mouth twitches. He doubles down on the disapproval to make up for it.

“I’m at work, I can’t get him. It takes about two hours to go through the whole process, and if you get it done after 5 they have to stay the night. So here’s what you do. There’s a number on the fridge, it’s labelled ‘Jerry the Jailbreaker.’ Call him, tell him Sam Wilson’s diving for a pearl.”

“I don’t want to be a part of y’all’s kinky sex life,” Bucky drawls.

“Can it. Then you put on _ nice clothes_, and go down to the station. Get in the left-hand line, that’s Pauline’s line. It’ll take twenty to forty-five minutes to make it to the front of the line, so bring a book. Not your phone, a book. And do your hair nice, Pauline likes that. She fast-tracks paperwork for clean-cut young men.”

“Correction: I actually don’t want to be part of anyone’s kinky sex life.”

Sam ignores this. “Jerry should meet you by then or send one of his guys. You’re gonna have to sign off on Steve’s good behavior, God help you. Then you go where they direct you and wait until they process everything and let Steve out.”

“Do I have to call the bondsman? How much is this going to be?”

“Depends on whether Steve’s sanctimonious ass pisses off the judge or if he manages to come across as patriotic.”

Bucky sighs, a crackle through the speakers. “I was gonna bake a sweet potato cinnamon roll tonight.”

“We’ll survive,” Sam says dryly, and hangs up.

In private, he whispers, “Dammit Steve,” and tries to pretend his mouth isn’t watering.

~ ~ ~

Sam hits the grocery store before heading home. When he gets there, Steve hustles to help him bring the bags inside, surely knowing he’s in the dog house. Bucky volunteers to put things away in the pantry, trying to avoid the tension in the dining room.

“You said you were at the studio today.”

“The NGO sent out an email blast, said Channel Five was going to be there today and turnout was important. I was only planning to stay for an hour over lunch.”

Sam nods. “And then the police showed up, and you had to be there to support all the kids, I know how this goes.”

"They just want to vote, Sam,” Steve says plaintively.

“Wait… this wasn’t the climate change protest outside City Hall?”

“There was a climate change protest?!” Steve’s eyes bug out. “And I missed it?!”

Bucky’s smothered snickers can be heard from the other room.

“Where were you then?”

“The State House, there was a hearing today on letting people with felony convictions vote.”

Sam thunks his head back against the wall. “You know, I’m not mad about you going to the protest or getting picked up. You’re a grown man with your own convictions, I understand. I just wish you’d keep me in the loop. You’re lucky Bucky was here or you’d have been in there overnight!”

“I know. I’ll put it on my calendar next time and send you a text.”

They hug.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Sam whispers into Steve’s shirt.

“Is this part done?” Bucky interrupts, poking his head out from the kitchen. Sam glares, to no avail. “Because I have some questions. Like why do you keep a bail bondsman’s number on your fridge, why are you on first name terms with the lady at the police station, and, I said I didn’t want to know but now I have to, why diving for a pearl?”

“We keep Jerry’s number because he always gives us good bond rates,” Steve explains.

“Pauline is the nicest lady, I’d be on first-name terms with her even if I didn’t see her _ all the time_,” Sam says pointedly.

“Should we put her on the Christmas card list this year?” Steve wonders.

“She asked where Steve’s nice boyfriend was and hoped I wasn’t the replacement,” Bucky tells them, scowling.

Sam laughs into Steve’s shoulder for a bit. “I knew I loved that woman.”

“And the pearl thing is because they start as irritating grains of sand inside an oyster, and then you have to pop them out. And I’m Sam’s irritating boyfriend who gets himself arrested all the time and Sam has to come pop me out of jail.”

Bucky smiles wider than Sam has ever seen on him. “Why do you get arrested so much that you have a preferred bail guy?”

Steve stands up straighter the way Sam always thinks makes him look like a superhero. “There’s a lot that’s not just in the world, and it’s the responsibility of citizens to stand up for what’s right.”

“Save it for the judge,” Sam heckles. To Bucky, he explains, “Mostly civil disobedience, noise complaints, blocking traffic, disobeying lawful orders. Once or twice resisting arrest.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I knew you were crazy, pal, but this sounds like a real problem,” he tells his brother.

Steve is not fazed. “Protesting is an important part of being a citizen. And I have to do twice as much because Sam can’t because of his work.”

Sam pecks him on the cheek, because Steve has internalized the conversation about how he doesn’t need to announce, every time the subject comes up, that if Sam were arrested for protesting he’d be more likely to serve time because he’s Black. It’s true, but that doesn’t mean Sam wants to hear about it all the time.

Bucky keeps giving Steve a look like he’s measuring him for a white jacket. Sam feels a camaraderie with him for what may be the first time. “Well, I put Jerry’s number in my phone.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Steve admits.


	6. +2

“Hey, so, you know how you said your Grammy doesn’t want us over for Thanksgiving?”

Sam glares at Steve’s head, poking in from the dining room. “I didn’t say she didn’t _ want _ us there, I said she’s having ankle surgery two days before.”

“Yeah, yeah, but we’re not flying down this year.”

“Mm-hmm.” Whatever the latest plot is, Sam has already been put into a bad mood about it, and he lets Steve know with a raised brow.

Steve gets the message. “I’m sorry. But it is a great opportunity for us to be charitable this year!”

“There’s no ‘charitable’ about Thanksgiving, Steve. There’s family, and good food, and the harvest. That’s literally it.”

Steve comes into the room and sits down on the couch, grabbing the remote to turn down the HGTV show Sam was watching. Sam glares further.

“_Literally, _ Thanksgiving is about communities working together to get ready for winter.”

“I know we’re not about to argue over whether the Indians helped the Pilgrims and how much racist propaganda there is in our schools, because that’s _ your _ soapbox, not mine.” Sam waves the conversation away. “Okay, how about you just tell me what hare-brained scheme you cooked up this time.”

“Speaking of cooking… I invited a few people over for Thanksgiving. They all agreed to bring dishes, so it’s not just us feeding people.”

“...Who?” Sam pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Natasha…” Sam looks up, nodding. “...and Clint.”

Sam sighs. “As long as she’s riding herd on him, that’s okay. Who else?”

“Jane and Darcy and Thor.”

“Are we hosting a party all of a sudden?”

Steve nods, shoulders up near his ears like Sam’s about to yell.

Sam doesn’t yell. There was enough yelling in his house when he was growing up. Now he prefers to solve issues without yelling. But apparently something in his face looks sufficiently threatening to make Steve worried. He takes a long breath, and then another, and forces his body language to chill out.

“Okay. I know Darcy can cook, she’s a New Orleans girl. Jane and Thor take turns keeping each other in line, so hopefully that’ll turn out alright. Anyone else?”

Steve makes a face like the time he wore Sam’s cowboy jacket to the studio (for inspiration!) and got paint on it.

“Just tell me.”

“Tony and Bruce.”

Sam goes out to the backyard and lays down on the hammock for about ten minutes. When he comes back in, Steve is watching the HGTV show, but he mutes it when Sam sits down.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I just thought we were going to have a quiet holiday, just the two of us,” Sam explains. “I’m not mad that you invited our friends, not really. I just wish you’d asked me, because I had plans for that weekend, and I know this is gonna end with a few people staying overnight after too much eggnog and wine, and then they make brunch and don’t leave until the afternoon.”

Steve looks properly told off. He’s even remembered to give his hangdog expression to the TV instead of Sam, because they had the talk about how that feels like emotional manipulation. “I’m sorry. I did want to have a quiet weekend with you, and then people started talking about how they were just going to be home alone, and…”

“And you’re a big-ass softie, I know.” Sam tugs Steve’s face into the crux between his neck and shoulder and Steve nestles there, grabbing onto his other arm.

“I can cancel.”

“Nah. But we are taking time off around Christmas, alright? Just the two of us.” Sam kisses the top of his lover’s head.

“Definitely.”

They cuddle for a while, watching HGTV on low, until Steve starts picking at a thread from the throw.

“What’s up?” Sam asks, catching his hand.

“I… maybe… Bucky’s coming too,” he says in a rushed mumble.

“WHAT?” Okay, maybe just a tiny bit of yelling. But this is extenuating circumstances.

“Sharon’s family is on the other side of the country and they haven’t even told anyone they’re living together yet. He’ll be all alone!”

“...can die alone for all I care…” Sam mutters with his face turned away.

“Sam!” 

“Alright fine, he can come. But he’d better cook something good to get back in my house.”

~ ~ ~

Bucky does not cook. He begs off because of his ‘missing arm’ ‘being sore,’ like a little bitch. But he does set the table.

(“Other people brought things they didn’t cook!” Sam argues, cheeks hot, in a whisper as he and Steve hide in the pantry.)

Sam is carefully and relentlessly ‘talked down’ by Steve, and begrudgingly allows it.

Jane bought bread from a bakery near her lab, baked that day. This passes Sam’s high standards, passed down through generations, because it’s good bread, and because he knows Jane’s research deadline is coming up and she’s barely sleeping as it is.

Tony’s spread of desserts are definitely not home-baked, but they’re delicious and high-end, and maybe Sam is weak for chocolate ganache and sugar work, so sue him.

Thor brings wine and mead and brandy, to go with Tony’s bottle of expensive cognac, so he is allowed in.

The others all cooked things themselves. Natasha and Clint (clean and dressed well, no visible bruises—Sam’s inner Grammy approves) made the turkey and stuffing. Bruce brings mashed potatoes and creamed corn and squash made with molasses. (Sam makes a note to be extra nice to Bruce for a few weeks.) As Sam hoped, Darcy brings collard greens, perfectly cooked, along with homemade cornbread. (She gets a big hug and a seat near the dessert and alcohol table.)

All Steve and Sam had to do was buy non-alcoholic drinks and cook the cranberry sauce and carrots and peas. Sam announced on Wednesday that he is not doing dishes, and Steve accepted that as his just punishment for unilaterally deciding to throw a party.

For all of Sam’s fussing, the party is wonderful: good friends, good food, good cheer. For all that these people were originally all Steve’s friends, Sam has gotten to know them and it feels, if not like a family Thanksgiving, like something approaching it. Religious or not, everyone puts up with him saying grace at the table, and then they go around and say what they’re thankful for. It’s nice, aside from when what Clint’s grateful for ends up being something that ought to have stayed between him and Natasha. He’s punished by being denied alcohol on the first round.

Dinner is fantastic. Sam barely saves enough room for dessert. Steve, who must have at least two stomachs, teases him as he finishes off Sam’s ill-advised third serving of Bruce’s squash dish. Between Steve, Thor, and Bucky, who are huge people with huge appetites, along with the rest of the normal humans, the table is nearly picked clean. Everyone chips in to clear off the table, stack dishes by the sink, and put away what few leftovers there are.

They put the big football game on in the family room. A poker tournament starts up in the dining room. Bucky is in the backyard pretending he’s not communing with Jimmy. Darcy has eschewed all in-person human interaction in favor of texting with her new boo.

Two hours later, Sam is starting to doze. His blood is full of tryptophan, he’s cuddling with his lover on their leather couch, and his home team, the Atlanta Falcons, are up by fifteen. Nothing could ruin this moment.

Steve nuzzles the side of Sam’s face and Sam hums in pleasure. Then, Steve whispers, “Is now a good time to mention I said we’d be godparents for Misty and Jim’s baby?”

“STEVEN GRANT ROGERS!”

Sam leaps up from the couch, gets his legs tangled in the blanket, and nearly falls over. By the time Steve has helped steady him and untwisted the throw, the whole room is laughing at him. Clint is filming, and Thor is handing Tony a crisp twenty.

“Was that a joke?” Sam _ does not _ squeal, no matter what Natasha might insinuate the next day.

Steve’s cheeks are red from eggnog and his smile is so cute and mischievous as he nods that Sam can’t do anything but laugh.

“I do have a surprise, though,” Steve announces when they've all cooled down a bit. “Or, Bucky does. I hope everyone saved a little room.”

The sliding door to the kitchen, which they’ve never once closed since moving in, slides open. The room turns their attention to the door and Sam can see that none of them know what’s going on.

Darcy emerges first with a stack of napkins and plates and utensils, and then Bucky comes out, his hair tied back, balancing a dish on his hand like it’s made of gold. His eyes are fixed on it as he navigates through the dining room to the family room, and he kneels down to slide the dish onto a cutting board that has been left out on the coffee table.

The moment the kitchen door opened, Sam’s nose was filled with the distinctive scent of pecan pie, but it’s when he sees the top, simultaneously stiff and gooey and perfectly browned, that he starts to tear up.

“Not tryin’ to step on your toes with dessert,” Bucky says to Tony, who shakes his head with delight, peering over Jane’s shoulder at the pie. Bucky stands up again, facing Sam and Steve. “But I had to do something special to say thanks for puttin’ up with me for the last few months. I know I didn’t make it easy, but you two were there for me. I owe you big time.”

Sam clears his throat twice. “It smells just like my auntie used to make it.”

Bucky smiles. “I have cousins in Tennessee. I asked them how to do it right. That’s got dark corn syrup and pecans straight from Georgia.”

Sam gets up and hugs him. He hears a few phone camera snaps, but doesn’t even begrudge them. When he steps back, he waves for Bucky to sit on the couch with them.

The bastard sits between him and Steve, and snuggles into the space where Sam had been cuddling, giving him a smug smile.

Sam sits down next to Bucky. “I still hate you,” he says, maybe or maybe not sniffing a little.

Bucky bumps their shoulders together. “I know,” he chuckles.

Sam leans forward to give Steve a look that he hopes is threatening, but probably just comes out sappy. “You’re gonna be the death of me one of these days.”

Steve reaches behind Bucky and drags Sam over so they’re one big squirmy, name-calling pile.

“And you’ll love every second!”


End file.
